


Hate Treads a Line

by TheMorningAche



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Allison!feels, Derek!feels, Developing Friendship, Domestic!Derek, Failwolf, Humor, Multi, occasionally the following tags:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMorningAche/pseuds/TheMorningAche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>3x03 AU wherein Stiles and Scott are kidnapped and Allison and Derek team up to save them. But it's not a truce and it's not friendship - the only thing it really is is turbulent.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>New text from Isaac Lahey:</p>
<p>Banshees on CA-OR border. Turned into a pissing match over who had the saddest life. We won. Also, Derek's shirt was destroyed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hate Treads a Line

**Author's Note:**

> Started writing this at 4 am Wednesday and finished 12 hours later. Finished before watching 3x04 because I didn't want feels (such as the overpowering compulsion to ship Isaac and Scott and sob over Derek's inability to _words_ ) corrupting this story.

It's not a truce and it's not friendship. Neither of them would appreciate this - _thing_ \- being labeled that.

They're just two people who happen to be trying to save some idiots and allow their plans to coincide.

\--

The first words she says after she knocks on his door, patiently waits for all of five seconds, then jimmies the lock and barges in: "This doesn't mean everything is water under the bridge." And then, "We're going to save them."

Of course Derek was already formulating a plan to save Stiles and Scott from the alpha pack that kidnapped them. It involved muscling in, with finer points like self-sacrifice if necessary and guilt if-slash-when that failed. Isaac still had to be figured into the plot, but Derek had a feeling he'd sneak in and attempt a rescue effort if he learned Derek's plan. It was good to have an idea of what contingencies he had to account for.

Allison Argent, though? That he hadn't planned on, although he supposes it was foolhardy to think she wouldn't interfere.

"No," he flatly replies, followed by a frown and "Isn't it a school night?"

"That wasn't an offer. We're going to save them. Also, it's Friday, which any fully-functioning person knows. You're not sleeping. Loss of temporal orientation, dizziness, and physical exhaustion - you've exhibited three signs of sleep deprivation in two minutes. Clearly, you're not in your best form."

Derek lets go of the back of his couch, where he had been anchoring himself against a sudden wave of dizziness. He grimaces as Allison cocks her hip and eyebrow in synch, both reading a bit judgmental. He feels the awkwardness of his hands hanging at his sides and folds his arms.

There's a long moment where they stare at each other. It's not sizing the other up or tearing the other down, like their previous encounters have been. It's looking at a potential ally, a mercenary that's offering their skill set for your journey, and attempting to see how they could fit. In that pause, Derek sees Allison's strengths - high threshold for pain, sharp eyes and mind, excellent shot - and her weaknesses - frail emotions, brings with her an overprotective dad, hard-headed and prone to going off alone.

They will _not_ get along.

Derek sighs. "Not a truce, right?"

"Definitely not. I still hate your guts and plan on avenging my mother's death the second you step out of line."

Allison grins. The alpha shakes his head, feeling a bit dizzy and world-weary as he says, "Alright."

Allison Argent added to the party.

\--

True to her words, the alliance doesn't seem to make Allison any warmer towards him when she shows up the next morning. Derek got a couple hours of sleep and is up only an hour when she picks his lock and lets herself in.

She stares at him blankly when she finds him in the loft's open kitchen, smudged with boxed pancake flour because Isaac ripped too large a hole when he opened the box and it kinda got messy. Derek doesn't stop whisking (with the mix from another box that he opened). Isaac turns around, not as surprised by the woman's presence as he would be if Derek hadn't woken him up at four a.m. to let him know about their sudden visitor. The beta grins slightly.

"Want some pancakes? They're good; Derek adds a little something." He frowns and tacks on, "Like, cinnamon and other spices. Nothing poisonous."

Allison shakes her head and deliberately refuses to sit at one of the bar stools. There's a long, awkward silence that sounds loud in werewolf hearing and probably just as much in human.

"I'll make eggs," Isaac offers. He swiftly heads to the fridge, grabbing up the other skillet and taking one of the other burners. "How do you like it?"

Isaac knows how Derek likes his eggs so he must still be trying to breach the quiet with Allison. Derek doesn't look up, just starts to pour batter into a sizzling pan.

"Fried - or scrambled. It doesn't matter," Allison says reluctantly.

Isaac whips a couple up with speed surprising unless you know that he worked as a short order cook a couple years back on a fake ID or that his father expected dinner seconds after he declared what he wanted to eat. Allison takes a seat and takes the plate, low murmur of thanks as she picks at it with a fork.

Derek loudly clears his throat and both teens look up at him. Pointedly, he flips a few pancakes onto a plate, offering one to Isaac, and once he's taken a bite, setting the plate within Allison's reach. He's reached the point of exhaustion where he's not going to fight this - yet.

In the end, they don't start plotting for another hour. It's tense and probably wouldn't be as congenial if not for Isaac being there. So of course Isaac gets a call from Deaton about the other betas and has to leave them alone while he goes to the veterinary clinic.

Shortly after, hell breaks out.

\--

Allison doesn't like to think she's the kind of guest hosts despise. She's generally tidy, courteous, and has a smile that assuages that compulsion people get to flutter around, picking at the blemishes of their living space and constantly offering refills. Generally, she doesn't make herself too at home and remains respectable throughout the visit.

Twenty minutes after Isaac dashes off to the vet - "Deaton thinks Boyd is showing brain activity again!" - Allison has carved swear words into Derek's coffee table, a lamp has been broken, and a splatter of pancake batter has crusted on the exposed ceiling beams.

"Well," Derek says, like it's a conclusion. Allison could almost agree with the sentiment. "Those are very inventive."

His thick eyebrows are moving in expression of emotions the rest of his face won't betray, hands on his hips as he gazes down at the state of his coffee table. 'Rabbit-toothed mutt' is by far the tamest insult on there. Her Chinese dagger is still sticking out of a rude depiction of Stiles whipping Derek - and not even in a way she suspects Derek might like. (She's actually quite proud of her ability to depict either of them in stick figure. If Derek ever throws the table away, she might keep it for herself.) Her wrist hurts from when he twisted it to make her stop.

Allison shrugs and continues to hold herself primly on one of the couch cushions. She won't apologize for her outburst; he won't apologize for what he said to cause it. Stalemate.

She does nudge some glass out from underneath the couch when Derek cleans up the lamp. That's mostly because she doesn't want to get it stuck in her shoes, though.

"Okay. If all the infantile tantrums are out of the way..."

Apparently, the respite of groggy Derek has vanished. Now he's back to his - how did Stiles label him in his contacts? - _sourwolf_ persona. His face is thunderous, and try as she might, she can't see one thing worthwhile about him. There has to be something or she wouldn't have initiated the alliance, but when the man is sitting across from her and has an idiotic moue on his face, it's hard to see her previous logic.

(It automatically wins her the cooperation of Isaac, though she probably could've gotten that if she mentioned she was going to save his platonic life partner anyway. She gets a guy built not unlike a tank, but he also has an ego and enough mental issues to fuel an F-22 bomber. However many fights he's made it through, he's still a dick who killed her mom. And it's not like a video game where the experiences made him stronger. If anything, he seems just a little more susceptible to death every time he skirts the edge.)

"Let's get down to business."

Allison will strive to persevere.

\--

The first plan of action is to find where Scott and Stiles are being held. They'll track them by separate efforts. It's fine with both Allison and Derek, because as far as either are concerned, if they have to immediately work in close quarters, somebody's going to die.

And one thing Chris has taught her is how to make it look like an accident.

Allison first tracks them to the edge of town, a row of abandoned buildings from Beacon Hills' more industrial age. Isaac texts her that Derek got the scent in the next town and followed it to a witch coven.

_Not 2 worry,_ he adds a few minutes later. _They weren't very competent. Only thing injured is Derek's shirt._

It becomes quickly apparent that they're being screwed with.

Luckily, Allison seems to have luck on her side because the false tracks only ever lead to benign areas. Once it's an old lady's garden who snaps at her when she finds her crouched in her tomato plants to look in her basement. Another time it's a nest of the most livid hornets in the state. On Sunday, she tracks them down to Los Angeles with Lydia in tow, and to prevent the trip from being a total loss, gets coffee and goes shopping.

Derek isn't lucky enough to spend his leads either threatening to go to the police about a marijuana plant mixed in with the sugar snap peas or going celebrity hunting. From the sounds of it, a hornet's nest would be welcome. Isaac's texts only inform her after they've gotten in and out of trouble, though - likely because Derek doesn't want her to think it's a cry for help.

_Banshees on CA-OR border. Turned into a pissing match over who had the saddest life. We won. Also, Derek's shirt was destroyed._

_Sirens in port! Doesn't sound good for drinking water... Derek might've said "Well, they're singing a different tune" after we defeated them. IDK if Derek went into battle with a shirt at all._

_Manticores hour away from Beacon Hills. Tried 2 make me their puppy. Despite Derek's willingness to sacrifice self for unknown female, unknown female died._

_He's depressed about it. Going 2 McDonalds. Seeing the employees there always seems to reminds Derek his life doesn't suck so bad. Need 2 stop for shirt first._

_Ghosts trapped us in mine. Bad touching all around, but Derek's shirt managed to stay on. Two wrote their last known phone # down so I could date their grandkid or smth._

_Nvm. Looked away for a sec and Derek's shirt got dissolved by a sudden burst of steam. Smh._

Allison thinks it's time they regroup.

"What are they doing here?" Derek grumps even as he lets Lydia brush past him, Danny trailing behind her. The younger male is flushing and looking anywhere but at him.

"Resources. Tracking Stiles and Scott our ways are obviously not panning out. Maybe another method will bear fruit."

She goes and sits by her friends on the couch, nodding at Isaac. He's sitting on the kitchen counter, chocolate from cookies smeared on his cheeks and looking adorable enough that Allison is resolutely not going to look at him again, on pain of death. Danny takes his laptop from his messenger bag and fires it up.

"Ten inches."

Danny, who had been looking up from his loading screen and whose gaze had conveniently paused over Derek's jean-covered crotch, chokes on his spit.

" _What!_ " he garbles.

Derek raises his eyebrow. "Ten inches - my wi-fi password."

Isaac rolls his eyes and says with a look that evidently declares he sees what they did there, "Apparently all the Hale siblings were ten inches when they were born."

"Oh," Danny responds, looking somewhat relieved. Lydia, on the other hand, looks like her interest has been piqued.

Allison cuts her off before she can begin. "Danny is going to track them using cell phones towers and their GPS."

"That sounds - convenient. The police haven't done this?" Isaac licks at the stickiness on his fingers.

Lydia shrugs. "They get busy."

"But Stiles is the sheriff's son, right? Has anyone even noticed he's missing? They've been gone a week and a half."

"I took care of it," Derek assures him. "I put a large pillow under the quilt in Stiles' room and have been periodically dirtying clothes in Scott's so it looks lived in." Everyone goggles at him. He sighs. "I was joking. Melissa knows we're on the case and the sheriff is aware his son is missing."

"What happened to them anyway?" Danny glances around at the blank faces. "I heard they were kidnapped for sex slavery, but... I could understand Scott but Stiles, too?"

"They offered Scott candy to get in the van. Stiles wanted in on that."

"Two for the price of one," murmurs the redhead. She's examining her nails and clearly moments away from losing all interest.

"I- I think I got them." Rapid fire taps at the keyboard. "Yeah, and there are blips of activity where you guys thought they might be before."

"Where are they now?"

"Signal's holding steady. They're-" Danny blinks, eyes going wide. "In Beacon Hills. They're here!"

\--

It's not like Derek hates all hunters indiscriminately. Their creed to protect human lives from supernatural menace is well-intended and altruistic if carried out correctly.

It's just that too often it's not.

Power corrupts - and it's true of hunters, supernatural creatures, and civilians. And despite being only a bite or a shiver away from being turned into the hunted, hunters are strong. They have years of propaganda turning Derek's kind into 'monsters'. They're the creation of a sinister force; they all sacrifice virgins and eat babies; heartless and dangerous. Hunters have the government and science as their stronghold, making it so that anyone unique should fear the public eye because the glare is too sharp. Like a sniper on a federal stipend, they can kill and have it justified.

Derek's only defenses are his claws and his fangs. Werewolves have a tendency towards power, but muscles aren't a given. Everything he's built lately he's had to work for.

Allison Argent - and all the brats that he's found himself surrounded by, really - reminds him of himself. She lost something important and is wracked by guilt because she was callous before it - or so he assumes when he sees the same self-loathing expression on her countenance as he's seen reflected at him most mornings since the fire. She carries a loss with her that is heavy enough to put cracks into armor carefully built from the moment she was born into a hunter family. Someone like Derek, who was raised to be better than mindless monsters, to be kind, knows the discrepancy between what good rearing tells you and what life will let you get away with.

At the base of everything, Derek thinks Allison might be a better person than him. For one, grief chased her out of Beacon Hills for only two and a half months; he vanished for seven years. Moreover, while he makes jabs at her age and coddled childhood, she never calls him a monster unless he deserves it.

He can't stand to be around her and smell the sulfur as memories of what Argents have done to Hales wash over him. But Derek doesn't hate Allison.

\--

Danny writes down the coordinates for Scott and Stiles' location. And when everyone stares at him like a group of map illiterate zombies, he plugs it into each of their phones.

He's gathering up his laptop when he notices the etchings on the coffee table. For the second time that day, his saliva goes down the wrong pipe.

"Is that Stiles whipping Miguel with his-"

"Sí," Derek says, just as Allison loudly says, "No!"

Okay then.

\--

The next step unfortunately involved bringing in outside forces not nearly as pleasant as Danny. When Lydia hears who they're going to consult, she refuses to be a part of it. She's willing to come up with a plan using any knowledge they can garner, but being in the same room with that man is too much.

"Oh, are the Girl Scouts selling cookies? I'll take Thin Mints, sweetheart."

Allison knows he could heal it within the hour, but she really wants to take a stab at breaking Peter's face. That might shatter this coalition, though, so she only stomps on his foot as she passes. Twice.

"Someone didn't get their courtesy badge."

Allison stops in front of the table Derek's been using to gather all the information they have on the location. There's history of who owned the old building - formerly a kennel, how fitting - as well as diagrams showing one could scale it for entrance should one have a body that defies human limitations and makes parkour look like hopscotch.

Allison knocks those papers off the table when no one's looking. They're going to try and obey the law of gravity for once.

A plate of scones hovers in her periphery and she looks up to see Isaac grinning around a mouthful of cherry-chocolate baked goods. She contemplates the plate and finally takes one. Derek might be a lot of things, but a bad chef is not one.

"Okay, so." Derek comes clacking down the metal staircase. Not as dramatic as she expected. He does look really tired. "Mission: save Stiles and Scott. Addendum?"

"What else is there to add?"

The alpha turns towards her. "Are we also aiming to take out the alpha pack while we're there?"

Realization strikes. They're going against a handful of really tough werewolves with two of their artillery presumably weakened and definitely out of reach. There will have to some kind of confrontation if they're to rescue the boys. It's like going against five bosses when your party hasn't been fighting anything but lower level slimes the whole game.

"We should attempt to retrieve and retreat," determines Allison.

Derek looks at Isaac, and when the younger male nods, bobs his head in assent himself.

"Okay. But it's impossible to not run into them. They're probably patrolling the area regularly if they aren't there the whole time."

("Do werewolves generally have a lot of time on their hands?" Isaac wonders aloud.

"Employment opportunities aren't that good when you're, at heart, an unbridled rage monster that needs time off once a month to let your hair down and howl at things," Peter retorts.

"Dress shirts would be more expensive to replace for Derek anyway."

"He would positively suffocate.")

"We can count on my dad to offer assistance when we make our move."

"You told Chris?"

The huntress shoots Derek a sharp look. Of course she told her father she's hanging around the local werewolves. Nevertheless, it's only alleviated some of the guilt of being around the man who killed her mother. Self-focused anger still boils over hotly like a kettle.

Isaac cuts into the strained silence.

"Let's review what we know: there's five of them. The twins join to become one mega-alpha and the other three are just as bad. There's five of us - six if Scott is in good condition. They're hiding out in a small area that has lots of land surrounding it since they tore down other buildings for forest space. The trees aren't very big since the saplings were planted a couple years ago; the building isn't very defensible."

Derek continues the thought, "Four of us will take on the alphas, hoping that the twins combine to level the numbers, and the last sneaks in and grabs Stiles and Scott. If we can turn the fight into a chase rather than a confrontation, we can wait for the signal the others are free and break away from our opponent. It's still close enough to town that they shouldn't follow us, for fear of being spotted."

Allison huffs. "Do they care? Also, why are they even doing this?"

From the look the Hales exchange, Allison can tell she won't like the answer.

\--

"Aren't villains always willing to share their schemes?" Isaac rasps. He gratefully accepts the glass of water Derek hands him. Too many scones in one sitting, Derek would wager. "Shouldn't they be rubbing their plan in our faces? Why are they being so secretive?"

"Perhaps they want us to tune in next week," Peter suggests. He is gamely ignored.

"They want to drive us crazy." Derek crosses his arms over his chest. "They know we'll start guessing, but their actual plan will be something we won't think to prepare for."

"So basically, expect the unexpected," Allison surmises, nodding.

"Because that's readily doable." Again, it's like no one can even hear Peter speak.

"But you guys have an idea of what they're doing."

Derek slowly nods his head. "An inkling. We think they're trying to get the pack gathered in one place for some reason. A more complex reason than systematic murder."

"But what they don't know is that Boyd and Cora are still in a coma."

"And Derek has an evil twin brother named Erik. Next time on Teen Wolf-" Peter stops abruptly. No one's listening to him. Fine. He'll just go stand over there and ooze derision then.

"Either way, it doesn't seem very good for us."

"It's not. We have no solid idea on what to prepare for, our ranks are weedy at best, and there's hostages involved. The rooms are too small for us to draw them into pursuit or for combat."

If ever there's been a need for a reset button for life...

Isaac sits down heavily as Derek hangs his head and Allison starts to fidget restlessly with a blade. Calculations run through Derek's head. He could try breaking a few laws of physics - and if that doesn't work, there's always martyrdom. Peter interjects into their little pity party of gloom,

"Why can't we move them to our liking?"

It's a start.

\--

Their plans never leave the hushed circle they formed over that table. They've discussed it in full so there's no need to meet up again until the promised day: a week from the full moon. Details and contingencies have been ironed out - Lydia double-checked everything over Skype and the idea largely made it through unscathed.

The week gives Derek a nice reprieve from dealing with humans although he still doesn't get more than a handful of hours the whole week.

He pushes his body, trying to get it past the threshold of fatigue where sleep is inevitable. He's coasting on dregs of energy and losing his appetite, and without food to digest, a werewolf's metabolism is hell. His vision swims and he aches - bone-deep pangs that crest with the burning of his eyes.

He wants sleep, but while he's haunted intimately by the ghost of his mistakes and indiscretions, he won't.

The Friday before they enact the first part of the plan, he forces himself to eat a big meal and meditates throughout the night.

And then they're all geared up and wandering woods, hoping to end the day without being slaughtered. Peter is wearing a dress shirt and jeans. Derek put on one of his cotton tees that promises to have a high enough thread count to be tear-resistant and never is. Isaac is wearing his normal attire, along with Derek's leather jacket; any bit of protection helps and unfortunately their Wal-Mart hasn't started stocking plates of armor yet. Target will be out until Halloween.

Allison is dressed for battle, but also a bit Tomb Raider-like, so it's just as well she didn't bring her dad. Chris doesn't seem like the type of father content to let his daughter wander around in skintight leather with a bunch of men.

Allison is the first into the area and they move slow. Peter takes up the back, partly because it gives him time to turn tail and run and mostly because he's strolling while everyone else is crouched and tense.

They’re to alert the alphas of their presence – it’s too early for the enemy pack to be ready to enact whatever they’re planning and it should cause them to fall back. However, there’s still a risk of them using force or choosing not to retreat. It’s best to stay on guard.

The old kennel is decrepit and grey. None of the structures are falling in yet, but the dusty windowpanes look like muzzy eyes and the door like a yawning mouth. There's a faint glimmer of light from inside, but no sound. They circle the back and Allison backs away a little as Derek kicks through the wall, into the storage room marked on the blueprints.

Too dark for a human to see much, even when the wall gives a heaving sigh and crumbles in, letting in sunlight. Allison takes out her flashlight, eyes the perimeter, and nods at Derek. The alpha takes over the lead and follows the vague scent of human down the corridor and past rows of cages. He stops short in the middle of a room with fluorescent lights blaring bright.

"Guys," he calls, summoning those that had split up to scan the area.

There's a lot of blood. About the amount a human needs to survive, Derek knows. Panic heightens all the useless senses - eyes taking in the lurid shine of the blood under the light, the taste of copper lying on his tongue from where he bit too hard, ears filtering the sounds of Isaac and Allison's ragged breaths. And then rationale kicks in and he takes a big sniff, smiling in relief a second later. He can smell Stiles all over the room, but the blood is Scott's. Nothing a werewolf can't survive with time to heal.

He says as much to the two behind him.

"I'll kill them," Allison and Isaac say in unison. Isaac looks worryingly close to tears.

Then another facet of Stiles' scent hits his nose and Derek starts throwing cinder blocks out of the corner. On the floor, surrounded by dry, brown blood are ten fingernails and a bit of skin. A mole sits in the middle of the patch - the one from Stiles' sternum, if he's not mistaken. And he's pretty sure he's not. The alpha pack took a mole and they screwed with Stiles' hands.

"I'll kill them," Derek growls. He feels worryingly close to ripping someone in half.

Footsteps come pounding in and they turn to see Peter looking breathless with rage and holding a dusty, broken bottle. "A 1920s bottle of sweet, dry red - _we're murdering them!_ "

They're all on the same page.

\--

Allison confirms their plan worked with a visit to Danny. The location isn't exactly what they wanted, but it's close enough. She'll have to double-check with Lydia that the runes won't need adjustment.

Until then, Allison's main worry is making sure the ragtag alliance is in fighting shape.

"Step away from the sweets, Isaac," she commands.

Isaac looks up, eyes wide and hair floppy and soul-crushingly cute. It actually hurts to see him watch the lemon bars be tucked away - "You can have them back after we defeat the alpha pack; you don't need that much sugar" - so she ends up letting him finish the plate. But she sternly tells Derek there will be no making baking.

She doesn't know what Peter needs to be at the top of his game, but he seems to thrive off being creepy, so she gets him on omegle and lets him go to town.

Lastly, there's Derek. Who seems to have gotten haggard in a matter of three weeks. He's unshaven, he's got bags under his eyes, and he alternates between snappish and passive.

"We should get some wine, some wolfsbane, and see about getting some sleep."

It's testimony to how exhausted Derek must be that his only resistance is "Aren't you sixteen?"

"I'll bring my dad."

"...I'll go shopping."

So they end up drinking moscato out of mugs on Tuesday. Allison's father sits next to her and stares into the distance in disbelief, commiserating with Derek's metal staircase on the strangeness of the situation. Allison takes small sips because the wine is sweet and pleasant enough that it would be really easy to imbibe a whole bottle. Peter sits across from Chris, smirking at everything, swirling the dainty glass he brought over when he heard there'd be expensive wine. Isaac is asleep on the couch, red-cheeked and out with a couple sips.

It might not be such a good idea after all. Lowering your inhibitions around two hunters, with one of your own out of commission and another werewolf that exemplifies moral ambiguity, doesn't make for an atmosphere conducive to relaxation. Despite this, Derek starts to get glassy-eyed, though he's still clutching at the wolfsbane-spiked wine like he thinks someone is going to poison it if he lets go. Allison pours herself and her dad another cup of the regular and decides to wait this out.

It's another hour before it's evident this idea will work.

The swaying isn't only from exhaustion now. Derek starts grinning slightly, but it's slightly bitter. A maudlin drunk - great.

"You know," Derek starts, and it takes Allison a few seconds to realize he's talking to her. Chris is still dazed by the circumstances, but he's being so from the foot of the staircase. Peter has cast himself into a French indie film and is standing on the balcony, looking pensive. "I didn't mean to kill your mom."

Instantly, the nice buzz Allison had been feeling sours. Now she just feels a bit nauseous.

Derek pushes on heedlessly. "She was trying to kill Scott and - I won't apologize for saving your boyfriend's life. Your mom was in the wrong, but I feel - regret - that it ended that way."

"Why?" With a deep breath, Allison unclenches her fingers from the handle that began to creak ominously. "Why did it have to be you? Because it was you, she had to worry about being subjugate to you. If it was Scott- if it was Scott, and he had just defended himself, then she could be alive! She would've turned, but she wouldn't be someone's mind slave!"

She's risen to her feet and her outburst has caught the attention of both adults, though Isaac slumbers on. Her voice echoes back to her off barren walks, harsh and heated.

Derek doesn't look angry, nonetheless, just thoughtful. "My betas aren't my mind slaves. If anything, they have me wrapped around their fingers. I hadn't baked in years and then Isaac mentioned he liked sweets. Next thing you know, I have a subscription to every baking website online. I came back to Beacon Hills planning to make things right or - end it," his voice hushes a bit on the words, a secret or shame, "And instead got myself caught up with a bunch of high schoolers because I saw the potential for a new family."

He takes a gulp from his cup, winces, and continues. "And Scott couldn't have done it. In retrospect, wouldn't you have lost two loved ones that day if he had? You would've heard what he did to your mother and taken it as a death sentence for them both. Scott wouldn't be the man you like if he could easily kill his girlfriend's mother. It's better it's someone you could hate."

Allison stares at the alpha, but he doesn't raise his eyes from his hands. Finally, he looks drowsy. Sitting back down, she raises her cup to her lips and mumbles, "I don't hate you." Quiet enough that Chris and even Peter won't hear it. Judging by the tension that eases from his shoulders and the clipped nod, Derek does.

She doesn't hate him. She just doesn't think she'll ever particularly like him.

\--

Lydia bought something over Amazon that's supposed to mask their scents. When it comes just in time for their rescue mission, they slather the goop all over their clothes and bodies. After a moment's consideration, Derek wipes some off his toe. If the alphas catch anyone's smell, it'll be his and the rest can go on with the mission as he draws them away.

The unassuming morning starts with Isaac begging cranberry nut muffins off him and ends when Allison shows up with a dour face at half past eleven. Everyone's quiet as they set out, but then Allison meets his eye in the rear view mirror of his car - and tentatively smiles.

"We're going to save them."

Derek nods and turns back to the road.

Peter and Chris are already on the outside perimeter of the abandoned bank when they pull up. They waste no time fretting over finer points. Chris gets on Peter's back, Allison on Derek's, and the three werewolves scale the building.

("I think Andrew Garfield made the better Spiderman."

"Maguire was fine until the third movie," Peter responds, not sounding out of breath despite the grown man-shaped cargo on his back. "The minute they tried to make him a dark, enigmatic character was the minute half the audience groaned and covered their eyes."

"And the other half?" Isaac asks.

"Account for tasteless idiots."

"Did anyone feel uncomfortable about how tight Garfield's suit was?" Chris questions. The males grumble their agreement.

"I liked it," Allison says loftily.)

Isaac and Allison write the runes along the center of the building while Peter and Chris set explosives. Derek walks around the edge of the roof, watching to make sure no one escapes into the woods. They should've caught his scent by now, and hopefully they're the sadistic kind of villains that like to wait and see what the prey is up to.

They detonate the explosives first, arranged around the roof in a large rectangle. Then, while they presumably have the alpha pack in the center of the room, they finish the incantation. Allison jumps on Derek's back, Chris on Peter's, and the quintet don't hesitate before dropping in the gaping hole in the roof. There's not a second to spare.

"Everyone alright?" Derek asks, coughing as dust from the explosion sinks over them.

"Yeah." Isaac nods absently.

"Yes- no, _no!_ How could I be? My _knees!_ Four hundred pounds were just caught predominantly by my knees and feet! Dr. Scholl’s isn't going to fix- oh, never mind. Healing took over." Peter shakes out his limbs and stands mostly at attention.

In the middle of the room, a barrier has been raised. The last bit of roof is being shakily supported by huge Grecian columns. Inside the blue barrier pulsing with magic - that they borrowed from Stiles, oops - the alpha pack snarls at them, pacing. Deucalion takes a few steps forward and stops just in front of the divide.

"Ah, the Hale pack. Come for your friends?"

Derek flicks his fingers at the attached rooms and Isaac and Chris go in search of Scott and Stiles.

"I must say, I didn't expect you to go this far. I was so certain you'd play into our plans - and in a way, you did." When he grins, a shiver runs down Derek's back.

"What's your objective?" Derek asks, terse to hide the fact that any more words than that and they might come out shaky.

"Don't you have a guess?"

"You want to kill us. You want a new alpha in your pack."

"World domination, in the long run, I'd guess." Peter is brusquely looking around the rubble for anything worth taking. It was a bank after all.

"All correct, but not nearly accurate enough. It's the little things that make up the whole. We were going to prevent your Scott from letting go again this full moon, eventually driving him to the point of madness where he'd kill his friend-"

"Yeah, we know that. That's why we took the roof."

"Also," Peter says, casually stuffing rolls of coins in his trousers, "Didn't you do this last time? Last time being literally a month ago. I just- the concept seems a bit tired to me."

"Quite right, I'm afraid. But there's something about having a beast kill his loved ones that seems to provoke a reaction like no other method. You want to develop a cold-blooded killer, first you have them take the life of those close to them with their bare hands. The twins-" He hooks a thumb over his shoulder, pointing approximately where they stand. "-Used to be triplets."

Allison mumbles something about seeing them around school and would've helped to know this sooner and thanks for keeping up the supernatural newsletter, Derek and now I have to tell Lydia.

"I used to be married, Kali used to be engaged," he gestures towards the barefoot alpha stalking her cage and then to the one dragging a claw down the flickering barrier. "And Ennis used to have children. Seven of them."

"You're sick," Allison spits.

"And you're jealous," Deucalion remarks with a smile. "Envious that Stiles was picked over you. Poor little girl, wanting to be picked first in gym class even though she can't play dodgeball. Maybe if you were more worthwhile your mommy wouldn't have killed herself." He tuts softly.

"You don't know anything about that!" Her teeth are set hard enough that her jaw aches.

"On the contrary, I see everything." He slips off his glasses, and just as he opens his unfocused, pale eyes, the barrier comes down and the alphas launch.

Allison's training is made a second too slow by the rage Deucalion’s speech caused. Derek dives to the right, which takes him out of striking range of one of the twins, but puts him in position to take the claws of the other. It sinks into the right side of his chest and out through the back, fingers wriggling like a wave hello before they're ripped back through with a squelch. It hit Derek there, but if it hadn't hit him at all, it would've been Allison's throat.

Derek saved her.

She grabs a bolt from her sack, lines it up on her crossbow, and lets it fly. She follows it in quick succession, not pausing to see if Derek is alright. The twins aren't paying attention to his prone figure and that's a bad sign, but the fact that she's being boxed into the corner is a bit more worrisome at the moment. Her dad comes back, and she hears Scott shout, feels relief flood through her, but doesn't let it make her less responsive. She gets an arrow in one of the twin's foreheads - she hopes it's the one that dared to mess with Lydia - and lodges another two in the other's shoulder.

They keep coming.

"Retreat!" she shrieks and immediately their team starts heading for the glass doors at the end of the room.

She darts a glance around, but Derek's not running with them. She yells for Scott and runs for the alpha without waiting to see if her ex follows.

"C'mon, idiot. You finally fall asleep and it's the worst possible time."

She slips an arm underneath Derek's and yanks until half of his weight is supported by hers. The rest of the burden is quickly taken by Scott and they move as quickly as they can when the alpha pack seems to be concentrating their attacks on them. Her father starts throwing blades, meaning he's low on ammo. They've gotta get out of here before it's too late.

In the end, Allison will never know how they got out of there alive. She sinks into an adrenaline-fueled reverie and doesn't snap out of it until they're back at the cars and a howl sounds loud enough to shake the trees.

It says there will be a next time. That they won't be as lucky during the next encounter.

The huntress' chest burns and her breath is nothing more than a string of gasps that can't refill her squashed lungs. She's bleeding even though she doesn't remember being hit as much as she obviously was; her hands are shaking, too, as she waits for her body to govern itself.

Her phone rings.

"Put me on speaker," Lydia demands, and once she is, "Roll call. Stiles Stilinski?"

"Present." Stiles is paler and looks more underfed than normal. There are bruises in all states of healing and his fingers are wrapped in bandages that have been bled through. He's poking Derek's cheek with a look not unlike concern.

"Scott McCall?"

"Here." He looks the same as a month ago, with a few fresh cuts that his healing will take care of and a dark look to his eye. It's not exactly pleasant watching your best friend starve to death.

"Isaac Lahey?"

"Here," Isaac answers, looking worn and a bit like a carved turkey. The cuts seem to have avoided his face, though, which isn't strange. It’s a nice face.

"Derek Hale?"

"He's here, just kinda - undisposed," Stiles says with a jab to Derek's cheekbone that sends his head lolling. Unsurprisingly, his shirt has not survived the episode.

"Chris Argent?"

"Right here, looking better than he is, at least." Papa Argent's got a couple of scrapes, but he must've stood back while the heavy hitters took the brunt of the work because he's probably the least injured of them all.

There's a noticeable pause, and then, "Peter Hale?"

Peter is inexplicably counting his loot on the roof of Derek's car. He blinks in surprise and smirks. "Every limb is accounted for." His shirt is ripped to shreds, but creepiness and exhibition are two Hale family traits.

"Take me off speaker." When Allison presses the phone to her ear, Lydia's voice is softer. "How are you doing, Allison Argent?"

Allison heaves a sigh and tilts her head back to look at the glare of a midday sun. It'll be replaced by a full moon in roughly twelve hours. "I'm good."

\--

No one seems to appreciate Allison's artistic abilities.

"Am I whipping Derek with my penis?" Stiles sounds a bit choked.

"No," Allison hurries to say, and then, "Is that a thing?"

Stiles opens his mouth, but Peter cuts in, "We don't want to know."

Stiles frowns and goes to fold himself in at the kitchen counter where, against all odds, Derek has returned to health quick enough to make snickerdoodles. Peter and Isaac finished off the first batch by themselves while everyone else licked their wounds so the rest of them are kinda dying to get their hands on some.

"No fair, Derek! I was the one kidnapped for a month!"

Allison looks up from examining her drawing - she should've given the whip a bit of distance from Stiles' hip, she sees now - and her eyes land on a large snickerdoodle. It's steaming hot, evidently just out of the oven, and is held out to her by a sour-looking wolf.

"It's not a truce, right?"

Derek didn't need to give her a cookie. It's only a matter of minutes before the pull of the moon takes all the werewolves far away from the loft and however many cookies she can hoard. But the thought is nice so she accepts with a small smile that she thinks is reciprocated for the barest of seconds.

"Definitely not.”

And somewhere, howls ring through the otherwise beautiful evening.

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr.](http://themorningache.tumblr.com)


End file.
